Men fled from their tottering habitations, and returned to them scared by greater dangers. ToC In a hollow in the meadows behind the prison whence Jack Sheppard had escaped,—for, at this time, the whole of the now thickly-peopled district north of Clerkenwell Bridewell was open country, stretching out in fertile fields in the direction of Islington—and about a quarter of a mile off, stood a solitary hovel, known as Black Mary's Hole. The noise was raucous. If they had any idea the concerts he had seen, they would have known the quality of her playing. Shotbolt nodded in token of acquiescence, and emitted an odd guttural sound. A narrow entry, formed by two low walls, communicated with the main thoroughfare; and in this passage, under the cover of a penthouse, stood Wood, with his little burthen, to whom we shall now return. We can’t afford to turn our women, our Madonnas, our Saint Catherines, our Mona Lisas, our goddesses and angels and fairy princesses, into a sort of man. By this time, he had apparently accomplished all he desired; for moving the bottle out of Jack's reach, he appropriated it entirely to his own use, leaving the devoted lad to the care of the females. "What do you want fot that coat, friend?" asked Jack, as he came up. " "A child!" thought Wood; it must be the fugitive Darrell. He was a just man, and he did not care to start any thunder which was not based upon fairness.
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